The
roses were the only thing that would calm him nowadays, the
roses in their simplicity, curving up towards the center of themselves
and blooming outwards, holding his glance for hours on end. He had
stayed that way for at least three days, hysterical. He finally awoke
from his apprehensive haze and found something to eat. The
landscape he was surrounded by was ever-changing, one minute it
was peaceful, the next it was deadly and scorched the eye with its
corruption.

Headless animals ran loose at times like this, biting at thin air
with teeth they did not possess, spilling blood in showers over the
ground, ripping each other to pieces and lying there to rot and pollute
more. But at times when it was peaceful, birds would sing and
butterflies would land in his hands. It could last days like this.

Suddenly it would change, the butterflies, changing into
malformed limbs or the birds dying or shriveling into a ball of bloody
bones, their song falling jaggedly, collecting in a group of screams
and harmonious notes of agony.

This was his life he realized one day, this was God's sick way
of showing him what his life was from afar, ever changing. He was
being punished. He learned to hate both sides of his life. But that was
five years ago, before he committed suicide, no before he had hit the
concrete crushing close to every bone in his body. And the realization
came, that he was observing his life and when that realization came
he no longer wanted it, he could plead in front of God himself, but it
would never work. Forced to forget everything and start all over,
shaking in front of the roses and watching his life pass by again, until
the realization came again and he was forced to start over for another
eternity.